


countdown

by babsaros



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Because I can, Fluff, Karaoke, M/M, New Year's Eve, Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-Season/Series 01, running joke that martin likes metal gear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22613329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babsaros/pseuds/babsaros
Summary: Pre-Archives New Years party at a pub. Everyone is happy, Martin is pining an embarrassing amount, and Jon may or may not be forced into some karaoke.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 141





	countdown

**Author's Note:**

> silly little drabble i wrote a few weeks ago for smth else, but i'm posting it like this because i crave validation and i'm never gonna finish the other thing. :p

Martin sat near the bar at a table with Jon. He wasn’t clear on how this arrangement had occurred. Sasha had been there a second ago, he thought. All he knew was that he was five minutes into a rambling explanation of the plot of the Metal Gear series. He’d invested far too much time trying to unravel some of the finer plot points, convoluted as it all was. 

Martin was hardly tipsy, only two drinks in, and he didn’t plan on having much more. Usually, he called it a night and slipped out of these office parties by 10 at the latest. However, it was New Years Eve. And Tim had just climbed the stage to start another round of karaoke. Tim’s voice was good- a little warbly, maybe, but he was an audience favorite for his stage presence alone. The song started, playing over the standard party music that otherwise contributed to the ambience. The lights were dim, but still bright enough to see by. Martin was wearing a strand of plastic gold beads he didn’t recall putting on, and he gestured emphatically over the table as he continued to rant. Okay, maybe he was a little drunk.

“Ocelot eventually helps Big Boss fight Volgin and defeat him, because Ocelot’s real name is Adamanska and  _ he was actually _ Adam the whole time! T-they have this sort of warrior’s bond that’s really poetic-”

Jon wore a pained expression and sipped from a large glass of something green.

As Martin spoke, doubt crept in. He realized there was no way Jon cared about any of this. Christ, how had he not been told to shut up yet? His next words died in his throat and he turned slightly away from Jon, swallowing hard. 

The audience at the stage picked up the chorus of “Sweet Caroline”. Tim was milking it for all it was worth. How he managed to make some lines actually sound  _ dirty _ -

“Why did you stop?,” Jon suddenly asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the music.

“Hmm?”

“You were saying something.” Jon sounds slightly annoyed. 

“O-oh, um. I… forgot what I was saying,” he lied.

“You were saying that Ocelot and Big Boss were in love. You’ve been going on about it for seven minutes.” This surprised Martin. That Jon actually had been listening, and cared enough to prompt him to finish...

“Well... that’s it, really. I mean,” Martin took a breath. “He grafts the arm of a clone of Big Boss onto his own body and pretends to be possessed by it, but- Well, he dies. Eventually. So.” Martin pressed his lips together.

Jon took a long sip. For a minute, neither spoke. 

“Hm.” Jon made a face like he wanted to ask something, knitting his brows.

Martin leaned closer, subconsciously, nervously. “What?”

“It’s just. Nobody else…” He searched for words, then stammered, “I, I, I know that I'm not particularly easy to… get along with. In fact, you’re the only one in the office that seems to find me consistently and  _ inexplicably _ approachable.”

“I mean, I don’t- U-um.” Martin paused, then huffed, “Well, I’m not going to say you’re an ass! I don’t- know.” He avoided Jon’s face, and instead found himself staring very hard at Jon’s hands. His nails were painted an iridescent purple, and he wore a shiny black ring on his middle finger. “I mean, you are- b-but. Hey, maybe you’re doing the whole- the whole- Ugh. Maybe you're a jerk on purpose, and it’s all an act, because you  _ like _ being mysterious and distant and prickly. I don’t- I don’t care? I guess? I mean, if anything it makes it  _ easier  _ to talk to you because-” Martin cut himself off and fidgeted with his hands. It was too hard to explain, and he felt a bit ruffled.

Jon blinked. “Wait-”

Tim came over just then, with jazz hands and a wide smile. “Jon! Just the man I’m looking for! It’s karaoke time, my friend.” 

“Oh, no, I’m not signed up.” Jon was quick to dismiss him. 

Tim exaggerated a grimace and sucked in a breath. “Ooh, sorry, but everyone else has gone. So. Your turn.”

Jon stared him down, unimpressed. Then he gestured to Martin, who was still trying to compose himself. “Martin hasn’t.”

Tim thought quickly. “Oh, well Martin’s not allowed to participate.”

“Wait, w-what? Why not?” Martin cried, somewhat indignant, forgetting that he did not want to perform karaoke in front of a full crowd.

“Oh, Martin, it just wouldn’t be fair to everyone else. You’d put everyone to shame. Besides, who else are we going to have score?”

“O-oh, no, I can’t-” Martin started but his brain was still trying to parse the sarcasm. 

Tim patted down his pockets, then stepped slightly toward the bar, gesturing wildly for the bartender to give him a pen. He stepped back, placed a napkin down in front of Martin and wrote “JON:” at the top. He placed the pen in Martin’s hand and interrupted his protests. “There we go! Very official.”

Martin grimaced. Tim grinned. Jon scowled. 

“I think I’m just going to leave, thank you.”

“What, scared you won’t get a perfect 10?” Tim taunted lightly. Jon wouldn’t fall for something that petty.

“Goodbye, Tim.” He got up, and started to put on his coat. 

“Oh, come on! It’s not even midnight!” Tim was growing desperate.

“I’m aware. I have no desire to stick around and see the rest of you engage in certain traditions anyways.”

Tim slid to Jon’s side and took the coat. “Okay, Alright, just- consider-” He held up a finger, and Jon reached to snatch the coat back. Tim suddenly tossed it at Martin, who dropped the pen and nearly knocked over a drink in his panic to catch it. 

“Really? T-this is just juvenile!” 

“I’m not above such things, Jon.”

And, though Jon continued to protest and swear, he slung an arm around Jon’s shoulders, and started to push him through the crowd. Tim gave him one last pat on the back and a shove, and suddenly Jon was standing on the stage. A few scattered voices cheered. Jon blinked and glared against the spotlight, and it reflected brightly off his glasses, hanging from the beaded cord around his neck. He stood awkwardly in front of the mic, and the music started. Jon hissed “oh, Christ,” loud enough for the mic to pick up and rolled his eyes. 

Tim had chosen Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” (1987). 

He considered just climbing down and leaving, but unfortunately that would probably be more awkward than just getting this over with. Besides, everyone here was intoxicated, right? This would all be forgotten by the time Monday rolled around.

It was a small mercy that the audience seemed to be keen on singing along.

Tim had made his way back to Martin’s table. Martin had draped Jon’s coat on the back of a chair, and retrieved the pen, though it sat on the table unused. He hoped Tim hadn’t been serious about scoring. As Jon started his painful way through the performance, Sasha found them. 

“ _ How _ did you manage that?” She laughed and gestured to the stage. 

“Oh, no, I fully expect to be strangled.” Tim replied. “He’s got very bony fingers, though. I think I can fend him off.” 

“You’re lucky Martin makes the tea.”

“Oho, I don’t know,” Tim said, arching an eyebrow. “Martin, you won’t poison us on Jon’s behalf now, right?”

Martin had been staring at the stage, and didn’t register the question. 

Sasha snorted and hid her smile behind her hand. She and Tim traded a few more words he didn’t hear, and then Sasha went back to her table. 

The music faded out, and Jon very quickly, and unceremoniously hopped from the stage. Jon would never admit that by the end, he had  _ maybe _ started to enjoy himself. Tim was still going to get a very cold shoulder, come Monday, but it wasn’t as torturous as he had made it out to be.

“Well, Martin, you’re very brave. Good luck at midnight.” Martin wasn’t sure what he meant by that. “Honestly though, I just don’t get it. Different tastes I suppose, but- Don’t you think he’s a bit… Hm. Well, I don’t want to sound vain but-,” Tim put out one hand, as if weighing an option, and then waved himself up and down with the other. 

“Wait, what?” Martin asked, suddenly very confused. Tim laughed and shook his head. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He said, winking. Someone came over, bringing another round of drinks and starting a conversation with Tim. Tim pushed a glass to Martin, who was so puzzled he just accepted it. 

Midnight finally came. They counted down and cheered. Tim pulled someone into a kiss, who, yes, now that he thought about, Martin had definitely seen him lingering around Tim’s desk the past few days. In fact, it seemed everyone in the general vicinity had found or brought someone to-  _ Ohh _ , this is what Jon had meant about certain traditions. Yes, Martin was feeling a bit flushed himself. 

At the thought of Jon, he looked up. It took a moment, but he spotted him, settling his tab at the bar. Jon sighed, shrugging on his coat. As he turned to leave, he caught Martin staring. Martin flushed deeper, and tried to look away quickly, but Jon was staring back, so he gave a small, sympathetic smile instead. Jon just gave him a curt nod in return. And then he was out the door. 

The exchange had lasted seconds, and suddenly the bar had erupted into cheers and conversation again. Martin went home, watched cooking videos, and tried to get “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” out of his head for the rest of the weekend. 

* * *

It’s a few weeks into January now. The majority of the office has gone to lunch, but Martin sits at his desk, typing and leafing through a pile of notes and research. He doesn’t notice Jon walk in until he’s standing beside Martin’s desk. 

“Martin.”

“Jon?” Martin was instantly uneasy.

“You know I’m not always… impressed by your work, correct?”

Martin was taken aback. “Well, that’s a bit rude-”

“If,” Jon cut him off. “If I offered you a job. Could I count on you?”

“What… kind of job?” he asked cautiously. Jon sat down, stealing a chair from the desk opposite Martin’s. 

“Elias has offered me a position as the Head Archivist. Ah- Apparently, nobody knows what happened to the last one. I plan to accept, and I will need… assistance.”

Martin considered for a long moment. He wasn’t particularly attached to being a Researcher. Archival Assistant was a much cozier title. Still… “If you’re so  _ unimpressed _ , why are you asking me?”

“Well, you weren’t my first choice. I already have Tim and Sasha onboard though, so if you don’t care- We can manage, I just thought-”

“You’re doing a horrible job of selling this.

Jon stopped. “Yes. I- I know.” He sighed. He’d rehearsed this pitch several times, but still didn’t know exactly how to say it. “Let me start over.” Martin gave a tiny shrug. “Tim and Sasha are quite good at what they do, and  _ for the most part,  _ we get along. However… with this new position, I would technically be... in-charge. And, I thought it might be beneficial if, if there was a sort of… mediator-” 

“You want me to mediate. In case someone gets mad at you? O-or in case you get mad at someone and need me to fire them?” 

“No! No, no, that’s not the right word, just- I just thought you would be a good fit, is all. For the team.” Martin raised his eyebrows at the word “team”. Jon pinched the bridge of his nose and stood. “Look, I’m sorry. Forget it.” He pushed the chair in the vague direction of where it belonged and started to walk away. Martin watched his back as Jon took a step, two steps, three, almost to the door. 

“You can count on me.” He blurted. Jon whirled back around. “I-I mean, I can’t promise I’ll ever be able to meet your standards, but- If you want me, you’ve got me.”

“Oh.” Jon quickly wiped the shock from his face and straightened up. “Right then. I’ll let Elias know. Er, thank you.” 

He received an email the same day, letting him know, officially, of the transfer. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, i hope you liked it!! if you did, please leave kudos or a comment, or shoot me a message on discord if you're in the RQ server, i'd really appreciate it!! love you, bye!!


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